


Draw Your Swords

by BloodFromTheThorn



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos is an idiot, Everyone is out of character but we can forgive that right?, Gen, d'Art is hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:38:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodFromTheThorn/pseuds/BloodFromTheThorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Athos had reacted badly to learning about d'Artagnan and Milady? What if he challenged him to a duel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Your Swords

**Author's Note:**

> So I've seen a lot of fics where d'Art realises who Milady is and panics, but Athos just kind of shrugs with 'you didn't know, it wasn't your fault.' This is, generally, my headcanon. However, today I was musing and thought 'what if Athos totally lost his shit over it?' So this happened. It's between 1x09 and 1x10.
> 
> Prepare for wild OOCness. (Like seriously, it's so bad but for the plot to work I had to make everyone an asshole so there you go)
> 
> The brilliant Tidia has written a daughter fic to accompany/expand on this. You can find it on FF.net under the name The Resulting Passion. You should check it out.

"What did you just say?" Athos' voice was deadly soft, the tone one might imagine a tiger would take before pouncing on a defenceless animal. A shiver raced up d'Artaganan's spine.

"Athos," he croaked, "I didn't know, I _swear_ , I didn't know!"

Aramis and Porthos had both risen to their feet beside them but they made no move to intervene, watching the pair of them warily. d'Artagnan was under no illusions where their loyalties lay if this resulted in a physical confrontation.

"You _slept_ with her? A murderess? _My wife?"_

d'Artagnan took a swift step backwards, suddenly aware that he was afraid, his heart pounding in his chest so loudly that it was a miracle the others couldn't hear it. His hands trembled. "It was before I met you," he defended, knowing in his heart that it was useless. "I'd only just come to Paris and I was scared and angry and _heartbroken,_ Athos, my father had just died! He bled out in my arms with your name on his lips! I had no idea who she was!"

"And falling into bed with her was the first thing that came to mind?" The Gascon flinched a little at the accusation from Porthos, hurt despite himself by the confirmation that he would be getting no support from his corner.

"I wasn't thinking," he muttered, trying not to let his heart fall into the hole that had torn open in the pit of his stomach. It had been a mistake, he'd known it then and he knew it now. But he couldn't change what he'd done, couldn't they understand that? People made mistakes.

"Have you seen her since then?" Athos demanded sharply, his face bone pale in the gloom that had fallen about them. It seemed fitting. "Since meeting us?"

d'Artagnan hesitated. He didn't want to answer and condemn himself but he refused to spread this lie any further. Surely Athos couldn't hate him anymore than he already did? Slowly he nodded, looking at the ground like a coward so that he wouldn't have to meet any of their burning gazes. "Here and there. She saved me, when I- With Vadim. Those guards that chased me. And later, the money…"

"She was your patroness." It was the first time Aramis had spoken in some time and d'Artagnan couldn't work out his tone of voice. Was that accusation? Or understanding? He didn't dare look to find out, nodding again at the floor miserably.

"After that… She came to me. I sent her away. I haven't seen her since." He looked up, catching Athos' eyes so that he could see the honesty burning there. "I swear, that's the truth. I had no idea who she was or what she'd done."

"I told you about her," Athos said, so quietly that d'Artagnan had to strain to hear. "When we were taking Bonnaire to Paris, I told you about her. You knew."

d'Artagnan shook his head but he knew that words were of no more use here. Athos had made up his mind it would seem and apparently that meant he was going to disregard everything that had happened to them over the last year. All that time, all that friendship and hard won trust – gone. He felt sick.

Athos took a measured step forward, vibrating with compressed rage and for an instant d'Artagnan felt a glimmer of pity for all the men that had ever stood against such might. "Draw your sword."

Ice shot through him. "What?"

"You heard me. _Draw your sword._ "

"Athos," Aramis cautioned softly but he didn't move to stop him from unsheathing his blade. d'Artagnan stared at it with horror. Once he'd been a headstrong fool who thought that he could challenge Athos to a fight to the death and come out the victor but a lot of time had passed since then and he still had yet to beat the man in a one to one duel.

"Athos," he reproached, but it was without strength. He'd slept with his wife and the enemy, it was well within his rights to call a duel. It didn't matter that he was going to die.

He drew his sword slowly, as though he could delay this final moment somehow. He brought the blade up in his usual salute, more out of habit than anything else – Athos didn't return the gesture. That hurt more than it should have done; even when facing off against criminals of the lowest honour, Athos would offer whatever dignity he could but he wouldn't offer the same courtesy to a fellow Musketeer?

After that, there wasn't any more space to feel hurt or abandoned. d'Artagnan knew that even if he'd been training with the man his whole life, he never would have been able to best Athos in that fight. Even shaking apart with fury, he didn't lose a spec of his perfect form, fighting like the most skilled demon that ever poured out of hell with the power of Lucifer himself – d'Artagnan barely lasted ten seconds.

Athos' blade skimmed his wrist, startling him more than hurting, and his own weapon dropped from his hand only to be kicked out of reach. The elder Musketeer stepped forwards, slamming a shoulder into d'Artagnan in the same move and sending him to the ground with a thud. A sword at his throat kept him from rising.

d'Artagnan expected he would be tense – terrified – when he met his end but all of a sudden, he _relaxed._ He was about to die, having lost to a superior swordsman and as much as he might want to live, it was over now. The agony of the last few minutes, of watching his friends turn on him as though what they had done together meant nothing… It would all be gone now. Athos tensed, pulled back a little, d'Artagnan took a deep breath and-

"Athos, stop." Aramis had appeared silently at the man's side and had grabbed hold of his right wrist, preventing him from making the killing blow. His face was ripped through with heartbreak and anger but there was no indication of who it was directed at. "What are you doing? d'Artagnan is your friend."

"Weren't you listening to him?" Athos hissed back, tugging a little at his trapped limb. "He betrayed us!"

"No, he didn't," Aramis said. His voice was soft but d'Artagnan could hear the steel there. "He made a mistake, before he even met us. He didn't know you or her and you cannot condemn him for that."

Athos looked furious for a moment before the expression faded away. His eyes landed on d'Artagnan, still trapped on the ground by the tip of his sword. A trickle of blood dripped down over one hand from a cut on his wrist but the boy hardly even seemed to have noticed it, his face twisted with misery as he gazed up at the man trying to kill him. Athos blinked. _What was he doing?_

He staggered a few steps backwards when the realisation slammed into him. Aramis let him go, shifting ever so slightly so that he was between Athos and d'Artagnan, who still had yet to find the energy to stand. Porthos materialised at his side and put a steadying hand on his shoulder but Athos ducked out from under it and retreated further, eyes flicking between them wildly but avoiding d'Artagnan.

The rage that had boiled his blood moments ago had frozen solid, his heart unable to beat under the sudden weight on his shoulders. He had just tried to _kill_ d'Artagnan. No matter what he had done, there would never be any excuse for what would have amounted to a vigilante execution. How much hatred had Milady drilled into him that he was willing to murder a friend?

"Athos, calm down," Porthos murmured, moving closer again. The familiar voice was soothing and Athos let him approach this time, immediately drawing comfort from the close proximity. "You're alright. It's alright."

d'Artagnan rose slowly, his eyes fixed on Athos without meeting his eyes, as though watching a predator for any signs of aggression. He was distantly aware that he was still trembling. Aramis turned slightly so that he could glance over his shoulder at him, taking in the ashen complexion and slouch in his posture.

"Are you alright?" he glanced meaningfully at his bloodied sleeve.

Unable to find words, he nodded without making eye contact. He wasn't, of course, but physically he would be alright again in no time – he couldn't even feel the cut Athos had given him. In that moment he was far more concerned about the fact it felt like his heart had been torn from his chest and that he was bleeding out faster than he defend against.

Aramis had saved him. Saved him, because if he hadn't then Athos would have put a blade through his heart, all because he made a stupid mistake that he had no way of predicting. He'd thought they were his friends.

In a daze he crossed to where his sword had settled and sheathed it again, taking comfort from the familiar weight of it.

"d'Artagnan," Athos started, horror starting to creep across his features. "I-"

But d'Artagnan didn't want to hear it. Whether it was apologies, excuses or more vitriol, d'Artagnan didn't have the strength to stomach any more of it tonight. He shook his head sharply. They let him go without a word.

* * *

The next morning d'Artagnan seriously considered just not getting out of bed, but he wrote that idea off quickly. Someone would eventually be sent to find him and what exactly could he tell Treville should he not turn up for duty?

He tugged on his clothes quickly and slipped out, intent on getting some air to clear his thoughts before turning up to roll call. Only yesterday he would have been looking forward to a new day, new adventures, but what was that worth when a man he would have called brother tried to kill him, only stopping himself when someone intervened?

The odd thing was that d'Artagnan wasn't even angry. He could see where Athos had been coming from and that man had been cultivating an ocean of pain over Milady for five years now – his actions might have been wrong but they were understandable. But that didn't mean that it hadn't hurt to see his closest friends, the only family he really had left, turn on him so quickly. Aramis had stopped him from being gutted, sure, but it was a last minute action. He'd seemed perfectly happy to let Athos pound him a little first.

d'Artagnan wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings so when a hand shot out from an alley and dragged him into the shadows there, he was startled enough to draw a dagger in defence. He pressed it up, towards the attacker's ribs before he could blink away the darkness and found himself face to face with Athos.

The Musketeer had frozen as soon as he felt the touch of a blade, hands releasing him instantly. His face was crumpled with guilt. "d'Artagnan," he said quietly, eyes flickering to the dagger.

As recognition swept through him, d'Artagnan half considered keeping the dagger in his hand, just in case he needed to defend himself again but Athos didn't look armed and besides, d'Artagnan never wanted to hurt him. The knife vanished back to where it had come from.

Athos breathed out shakily. "I just wanted to talk."

"You dragged me into an alley to have a conversation?" There was mild disbelief in his voice. Maybe he still thought Athos was going to try and kill him after all.

He scowled at him. "Last night… I lost control." He stopped there, as though that was enough to explain everything away and set the world back on its axis. d'Artagnan almost scoffed.

"No, last night you tried to kill me. Thank God for Aramis, I suppose."

"You don't think that I would actually-"

"I think that you would have happily slit my throat open and watched me choke on my own blood," he said, mercilessly, anger suddenly welling up where before there had been none. His emotions were swinging about wildly and he couldn't seem to bring them back under control, no matter how much he tried to reason with himself. Athos flinched away from him. "But I also think I can understand that."

Athos raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I tried to kill you for something that was hardly your fault, and you _understand?_ "

"I understand. That doesn't mean I forgive you."

He blinked, clearly trying to contain another flinch but not quite managing it. There was a deep resignation in his eyes that spoke of being far too used to driving away the people he cared about and despite himself, d'Artagnan felt his anger being to give way to acceptance. "I know," Athos said very quietly. He stepped backwards, towards the entrance of the alley. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what I did. There is nothing I can say that will excuse my actions."

It looked like there was something else he desperately wanted to say but d'Artagnan's closed expression seemed to warn him away. He slipped back into the crowd without another word.

d'Artagnan spent a long time standing there, thinking about it. He was hurt, he was angry, he was… He didn't know. He'd slept with Milady, had worked with her, and he could see exactly how that might look to the others. He'd known her first, who's to say that she didn't send him to them as a spy to infiltrate their ranks and pass her information? Athos had been furious and not thinking clearly. He'd apologised.

It would take more, a lot more, but d'Artagnan suddenly realised that this was something he might actually be able to forgive. Everyone has to start somewhere, and Athos had come to him.

He set off for the garrison with lighter footsteps than before.

As soon as he walked under the archway he met Aramis' and Porthos' wandering gazes and nodded at them silently. By the relief that flashed across their faces, it had been enough to convey his meaning. He fell in beside Athos, ignoring the way the man tensed at his proximity.

"It's not okay," he muttered in an aside, wary of Treville who was walking up and down the lines, inspecting his men. "But I think it might be."

A tremor ran through Athos' frame, and he sagged slightly where he stood, his perfect posture collapsing. "I promise, I'll make this right."

"We stop her, and the Cardinal. Then we can worry about making things right."

Treville swept by them and they both fell silent, not foolish enough to continue a conversation when he would hear their every word. Just when d'Artagnan thought that Athos wasn't going to respond at all, he heard a very soft "Thank you."

Maybe they could make this right after all.


End file.
